


it's reaping what you sow

by wan (kuro49)



Category: Gokusen - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/wan
Summary: Hayato knows better than to get hurt by any other hand than Ryu’s.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wish i could say i wrote this back in 2005 but yeah no, it's still 2016 and what the fuck self. 
> 
> or this is the one where i remember how ridiculous akanishi's mouth looks.

 

It is late when he finally gets home, just not so much later than the usual that it would make Ryu glance up from grading math tests in concern.

Hayato is careful, deliberately and painfully so, when he closes the door behind him and shuffles out of his shoes. And that says much more than the way he has his head ducked down, hair out of the usual ponytail he keeps it in when he is finished a shift at Kuma’s to fall over half his face.

Yabuki Hayato has never been careful. He should hardly be starting now.

And it is _that_ that Ryu picks up on.

The man has known Hayato for far too long not to.

Ryu puts down his red pen to take off the glasses he is wearing and doesn’t bother with moving the papers out of the way. He only leans back against the edge of the narrow, battered couch they own and answers _welcome back_ before Hayato can mutter a _I’m back_.

He keeps his eyes on him and in the uneasy silence, it is always going to be Hayato who breaks first.

“I didn’t start it.”

Hayato tells him, settling down across from Ryu with reluctance like he’s done something wrong even as he is lifting his head up to look Ryu in the eyes with the same kind of defiance that never really went away.

“But you finished it.”

Ryu watches as Hayato’s mouth twists into a scowl before he is wincing at the pull to his split lip in the next second.

In the morning, the bruises will look particularly spectacular in purple and green but right now, the pain has yet to settle in his system yet. There is just that consistent, dull throb that the two of them are much too familiar with even years after their graduation (and what a miracle that one is if they really think about it at all).

“I didn’t _run_  if that’s what you’re asking.”

Ryu doesn’t answer, and maybe that is the hardest thing above all.

Hayato sits still in the silence.

 

Co-dependence can be a terrifying thing.

For them, it is the only thing they know.

There is no such thing as a pinky promise or a blood pact between them, not one for something like this at the very least. Ryu has never had him say it in words, and Hayato has never had it in him to admit to it.

But he knows.

Hayato knows better than to get hurt by any other hand than Ryu’s.

“Come here.”

Ryu tells him.

And Hayato does.

Just as naturally as he takes in his next breath (or make that next swing or look to Ryu again like the magnetic pull is a brand new thing between them instead of being decades old). Hayato pushes the small table that works as both their dinner table and Ryu’s workspace to the side, clears a spot big enough for him to get close to the other.

It is not with any kind of reluctance when he finally asks.

“…Still mad?”

He is on his knees in front of Ryu, his hair wild and in his face. He puts a palm down on Ryu’s thigh and keeps it there. He is not looking for forgiveness but he winces just as loudly as he always does when Ryu reaches out to press the pad of his thumb against the split of his lip.

Not hard enough to break the skin again.

Just hard enough to have Hayato shoving down that reflex to pull away.

It is not fear, he thinks. Hayato is anything but masochistic; this is not about that. This is not about hurting him. This is about quite the opposite really. Instead, he flexes his fingers into the soft and worn fabric of Ryu’s pants. He hasn't been in a fight for a long while now, _months_ if he can believe it himself, but even back when he started fistfights every other day out of some half-hearted whim, Hayato has never got used to the pain.

“I’m not mad.”

Ryu tells him.

And Hayato doesn’t say anything to that, just sucks in a near silent breath from between his teeth when Ryu trades thumb for mouth and kisses him hard.

 

He never makes him promise.

But Hayato doesn't go back to his old ways.

Implicit trust comes to them like torn skin over their bruised knuckles and mouthfuls of blood spat to the concrete ground. It comes to them like a well-aimed swing that catches all wrong, and he can flex his fingers over and over again but the ache stays even days later.

With practice, implicit trust comes to the two of them like the slick slide of his tongue before his teeth is sinking down on his lower lip for more. It is a second button pressed into the centre of his palm like a reverent promise, leaving an imprint he never wants to go away.

There is no forever.

There is only one long moment that stretches from that very first time Yabuki Hayato meets Odagiri Ryu until now.

He hits him first.

He hits him last.

(It was always going to be him no matter who throws every single punch in between.)

“Are you apologizing?”

Ryu asks with Hayato’s fingers smoothing out the creases he makes in his sweatpants (Hayato’s actually from the way the seam frays). He is gentle in every way that he is not and Ryu is not used to a gentle Hayato in the very same way a careful Hayato sticks out like a blinking light in the dark to him. He is not making him a promise now.

“Have I ever apologized?”

Ryu doesn’t bring up that time, that _one_ time.

They don’t talk about that, not much, not at all.

But Hayato is smiling, so Ryu knows exactly what Hayato is not thinking about ( _that_ ). He is also a little bit breathless when he answers, and Ryu knows exactly how Hayato gets after a fight (Ryu reacts the exact same, even _now_ ).

“You know me, Ryu.” Hayato says, like they still need to put it into words, because he knows Ryu too. He can look at him through his lashes and from behind his hair, and he can drag his tongue across his bottom lip in that slow lazy way that gets Ryu moving quicker than any trick he has up his sleeves, and he can try and he can try but he is already there. Hayato just lets his eyes drop deliberately to where his hand is. “Come on.”

Ryu’s hand finds his hair in answer and pulls.

Hayato finally remembers to breathe out again.

When he runs his tongue across his mouth this time, the blood smears across the sheen like fine lacquer.

 

Ryu doesn’t know how to feel when Hayato gets like this.

Needy is not quite the word Ryu wants to use but the whine that escapes Hayato’s mouth even with his lips stretched wide around his cock makes it come quite close.

Hayato is pushing himself, he is also pushing Ryu.

Ryu is not a better man than this, and Hayato is counting on it.

“Fuck—”

It might be an apology in the absolutely least sincere way but at least Hayato is honest about it. With one hand splayed across Ryu’s bare hip, the other wrapped around the base of Ryu’s cock, Hayato sinks his head down, again then again then lower and deeper than before. He works himself up to it, in increments, with soft, sloppy noises that escape from the seam of his mouth and then he keeps himself there, working his throat around the head of Ryu’s cock.

He breathes through his nose and he is a mess when he comes back up. Spit and precum smearing across his mouth and chin.

“Hayato.”

Ryu says in warning, like Hayato has ever done well with those. But there is a hitch in his breath when he sees Hayato like this and his name comes out all wrong.

Ryu is careful with him in ways that is never deliberate but in these moments, even Hayato can tell Ryu wants to do a lot of things to him.

There is not one fight between them that is fair. Because Hayato never really wins and Ryu never quite knows just how to lose either. When Hayato gets like this, Ryu gives in to the fight and they will probably both come out scathed but every wound leaves them with the scars to match and aren't they a pair where it counts?

“Come _on_.”

Hayato repeats himself, finally pulling off an inch, his breath coming out like a hot wet gasp. Ryu is not about to be asked a second time.

Hayato opens his mouth, Ryu holds on to him properly this time and then he is finally fucking into the awaiting mouth like he wants him to. The sigh Hayato lets out sounds a lot like relief and Ryu still has no idea how he should feel (maybe _good_ if the fluttering close of Hayato's eyes is any indication at all).

Even as he is having a hard time biting back that groan when he slides inside the heat of Hayato's mouth, Ryu still has a clear enough head to know one thing.

If Hayato is a mess now, he is going to be a wreck before either one of them gets to come.

 

Ryu wouldn't be here with Hayato if he had wanted easy.

(He wouldn't have made that first swing either when the punch hurts him even more than it hurts Hayato's smug baby face that he never really grew out of. Ryu is sure if he tried, he could find that scar over his knuckles where his fist caught all wrong against the edge of Hayato's teeth, leaving them both bloodied while tears pricked at the corner of their eyes.)

Ryu still can't remember what stung more but he can remember Hayato's face that very first time he asks for this, the memory an imprint inside of his head.

They are not keeping count but if it is any indication, Ryu will be teaching all on his own starting the next school year and Hayato has held his current job for the sixth consecutive month. They are on their bed and the room reeks of sex and the sheets are wet in patches from where Hayato spilled the lube.

"Fuck me." He tells him with his hand reaching out to wrap around Ryu's wrist, pulling it to him until Ryu's fingertips is pushing against his tongue, and then he continues around them. "Here."

Ryu raises an eyebrow and gives Hayato a solid minute to think about what he is asking for. Neither one of them is shy about it.

When those last seconds are up, Hayato's hand drops from Ryu's wrist.

"Okay."

Ryu is not one for being breathless but the soft whine Hayato lets out in reply to his agreement tells Ryu everything he hasn't even thought to ask. He slips two digits pass the second joints, and that has been five years ago.

Yabuki Hayato is still just as bad at asking for anything at all.

He crawls into his lap, limbs loose and the ugly yellow tint to his bruises beginning to look much worse than they were when he stepped inside their shared place. He is also just as unrepentant when he presses forward with a slow grind of his hips, his erection pushing against Ryu's stomach as he gets closer still.

His jaw is sore, his voice is hoarse and he doesn't want to look into a mirror right now because it is going to be _bad_.

But he still has to tell him because it matters even if it really doesn't.

"I won."

Ryu kisses him like it is a reward, and he tastes exactly like he can expect him to: Like metal and rust with the trace of blood from his hard-won fight then bitter and salty like the mix of cum and spit that Ryu warned him not to swallow. Disgusting really but Ryu kisses him again, pressing down harder against the opposite corner of his lips where the skin had torn fresh again.

"You fucking better, Yabuki." He mutters, like there is a chance they will ever grow out of this. "I don’t stay up this late on a school night for anything less than victory sex."

It is as close to everyone else's version of what a promise for forever probably looks like. Hayato quirks his split lip at Ryu and pulls it wide enough to feel the pain like it is Ryu's blood he is tasting instead of his own. Like it is their very first fist thrown all over again. 

 


End file.
